


The Freedom of Vulnerability

by glim



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: 2016 Summer Olympics, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Sports, Archery, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Merlin Olympics, Minor Illness, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-18
Updated: 2016-08-18
Packaged: 2018-08-09 15:32:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7807339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glim/pseuds/glim
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur is the only person Merlin trusts when he is at his most vulnerable and he comes to find that there is a freedom in that trust.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Freedom of Vulnerability

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2016 Merlin Summer Olympics fest. 
> 
> Thank you to my beta <3
> 
> This fic also fills the square for "AU: Other" on my trope bingo card.

Although Arthur's not in his room, Merlin lets himself in and lies down on the neatly made bed. He closes his eyes, reminds himself to not hold tension in his muscles, and lets out a quiet sigh. He doesn't have to be anyone special in here; Arthur's room always seems to offer him more privacy than his own. 

Their accommodations in the Olympic village are sparse, but livable, and Arthur's space still feels very... Arthur-ish. His red hoodie's draped over the back of the one chair in the room, his suitcase is open, his clothes half-unpacked and slightly rumpled, and his phone charger, notebook, and a paperback are on the table by the bed. The small room doesn't look anything like the flat Arthur has back home, which is all mis-matched furniture repurposed from his dad's house and shelves full of books, athletic awards, and photographs of friends, family, and former teammates. Yet, Merlin would be able to tell without any previous knowledge that this room belonged to his best friend. 

Or, well, that's who he supposes Arthur is. He's also the assistant manager of Britain's archery team, so anything more that Merlin's hoped Arthur might be is out of question for the time being. He's a good manager, and he'll be a good coach, should he decide to do that, too. And a good friend, kind and generous and loyal, and he'd probably be a good boyfriend, too. 

Merlin puts that thought aside, pushing it away when it tries to impede his attempts to relax. Along with his wistful Arthur thoughts, the headache and sore throat that he's been trying to fight off all day are keeping him from resting properly. It's easier to relax here in Arthur's room, though, even with the painful little twist that he gets in his chest when he thinks that this is the closest he'll get to Arthur. 

Right. That's the headache and exhaustion talking. Merlin rubs both hands over his face and forces himself to his shut eyes and go through the mindful breathing and relaxing routine again. He starts to drift after a few minutes, thinking in a muzzy, pleased way about how quiet Arthur's room is, and how his bed has that faint, warm scent of shampoo and cologne. 

 

Merlin wakes up curled on his side around a pillow, a blanket pulled up over his shoulders, and faint music somewhere in the background. He rubs his face into the pillow, remembers that he's in Arthur's room, and gives a quiet 'oh' when he looks up to see Arthur sitting in the chair and reading. 

"Ah, you are awake. You were just sort of coughing for a bit there... Water?" he asks when Merlin tries to talk and only ends up coughing again. "I'll take that as a yes." 

Merlin nods, clears his throat, and hauls himself up into a sitting position. The headache is still there, a dull pound at the back of his sinuses, and his throat is dry and sore. His nose feels stuffy, too, and he coughs again when he attempts to sniffle through it. 

"Alright?" Arthur asks. He sits down on the bed next to Merlin and hands him a bottle of water. "Or are afternoon naps part of your new training regime?"

Merlin shrugs, then, after a few sips of water, he shakes his head. "I hope not. I think I'm getting a cold," he says, "or I'm really allergic to something down here." It's easier to admit it than deny it, especially after falling asleep in Arthur's room and waking up in such a state, but Merlin feels his stomach sink at the admission.

"Poor Merlin. You don't sound too bad." 

"Yet."

Arthur rests a hand on Merlin's back, between his shoulder blades, and rubs his back while he drinks more of the blessedly cool water. The touch feels so good, so warm and reassuring, that Merlin lets himself lean into it, by slow degrees, until he can almost rest his head against Arthur's shoulder. 

"Come on. Let me take a look at you." 

Merlin looks up when Arthur gives him a nudge, ignoring his disappointment, and lets Arthur scrutinize him. Arthur's the only one he'll let seem him like this, vulnerable and uncertain and feeling completely off his game. 

"You look tired... but you don't have that, well, that sneezy sort of look you always get when your hay fever acts up." He brushes Merlin's hair off his forehead, and glances away shyly. "I only meant--"

"I know. And you're right." Merlin hesitates, waits for Arthur to look back up at him, and smiles a little when he does. "I think you know me too well." 

Arthur gives him an uncertain look in return, and right when Merlin thinks he's going to look away again, or move away, Arthur smiles and ducks his head. 

"I think you're ridiculous. You haven't been ill at all this year, not even once. Now you're here at the Olympics and you catch a cold?" 

The teasing dissolves the tension between them and Merlin laughs, coughs, and reaches for the water bottle again. "Ugh. I'm going to be a mess tomorrow. How am I going to contend if my eyes are watering? And my nose is all..." He waves a hand in front of his face and grimaces. 

"You're going to be fine."

"I'm going to be--"

" _Fine,_ " Arthur says again. He gives Merlin another close look, and there's another moment of hesitation, and Arthur smoothes a hand over Merlin's sleep rumpled hair. 

And that touch, too, feels good, so infinitely good and familiar, that Merlin does lean into it. He's known Arthur for nearly ten years now, and they've been through uni and endless archery competitions and training schedules together that sometimes he feels as if he knows Arthur better than he knows himself. 

He knows, this, too, that being close to Arthur, that feeling himself hesitate on the brink of changing that relationship, is akin to the moment when he pulls the arrow back against the string, when all his being is focused on a single moment, a single movement. 

"Look," Arthur says, this time using his reasonable, manager type voice, "you've been training for this event for years. Even if you have the worst cold of your adult life, you're still going to be fine. We'll fill you up with cold medicine and fluids and vitamins, and make afternoon or morning or whatever time you're not competing naps part of your regime. You'll be fine," he says again, and his voice goes quiet. "We'll get through this."

"We will?" Merlin feels himself hesitate again, grow taut with uncertainty. 

Arthur nods. "I'll look after you." 

"Don't--"

"No?"

"No, I mean--I don't want anyone else to know. I want to go out for my event and not have anyone else know." 

"Of course not." Arthur strokes Merlin's hair again, and slides his arm around Merlin's shoulders to draw him in close. 

With that, Merlin sinks into the touch, lets Arthur rub his back and lets himself rest his head against Arthur's shoulder. He doesn't have to ask Arthur not to tell anyone he's not feeling good; he'll tell the coach himself and his teammates if he needs to, but he knows Arthur won't fuss at him in front of anyone else. 

And that's really what Merlin wants--he wants Arthur, and he wants Arthur to himself. He wants to compete tomorrow, and feel the tautness of his bow and the soaring freedom when he lets the arrow fly; he wants the same freedom for himself. 

When Merlin leans into the curve of Arthur's side and feels Arthur press a kiss to the top of his head, he gets a glimpse of the soaring freedom he longs for. The freedom to be open, vulnerable, and needy, and he know, as well as he knows as he knows anything else, that Arthur's the only person with whom he wants to share that freedom. 

*

The day of his next competition, Merlin drinks as much tea as he can handle and takes the strongest cold medicine Arthur's willing to give him. 

"Anything else will put you to sleep," he explains, and hands Merlin a glass of juice to swallow down with the tablets. 

"I sound terrible, though." Merlin frowns at his croaky, congested voice, and swallows down the rest of his orange juice in the hope it'll help. He doesn't feel quite as poorly as he'd feared he would, though he also suspect he'll crash post-adrenaline high later on. 

"Yes, well, you're an archer, not an opera singer, so I think it's alright. Nobody will be able to tell, just me." Arthur smiles and leans in to brush a kiss against Merlin's cheek. "Good luck. You're going to be great out there." 

"Thanks," Merlin says, and, in a lower, fonder voice, "thank you," as he pulls Arthur into a hug that he makes last as long as he can. "Should I look for you?"

"I'll be there. Then I'm taking you out for dinner. And probably putting you to bed with more medicine," he adds when Merlin coughs. 

"Maybe." 

"Probably." Arthur settles his hands at Merlin's waist. "Which is fine. We have so many more moments to look forward to after today." 

"You're sure? It might get complicated."

"We'll work it out. You'll become a famous athlete, I'll get an enviable position as a coach." When Arthur smiles, Merlin finds it difficult not to believe in his vision of the future. "I'll look after you here, and then we'll work it out at home."

Merlin hugs Arthur again, close and tight, and kisses him quickly, and realizes that it's been worth it, that the waiting and hoping and even suffering through this ridiculous cold has all been worth it, to know Arthur will be there for him, waiting to be close to him once more, looking forward to all the moments that will follow this.


End file.
